The Alliance of Bethansar
by The Sandman
Summary: A story on how the Eldar beat off the humans to prepare for a great inter-racial Alliance against the Forces of Darkness...


1 Alliance of Bethansar  
  
  
  
Farseer Thalisdein opened his eyes slowly and felt greatly troubled by what he had seen. He had been meditating in his darkened Infinity Circuit. He sat crossed legged in the very center of the room, where the great crystal floor had been decorated with the great noble symbol of Akilae. Thin long strips of gilded Wraithbone radiated from the very center of the symbol, upon which he where he sat. The Wraithbone had glowed faintly blue, pulsing with psychic energy as his mind coursed through their veins and into the greater whole that was the Craftworld. By doing so, he could plumb the twisting pathways of time, pathways so obscure that only a few hundred seers on the Craftworld had enough will power to explore them. By concentrating, a seer could link his mind to the hundred billion spirits who were his ancestors that wandered the Craftworld, allowing himself to manipulate the incredible psychic energy to see the future.  
  
Farseer Thalisdein did not come often, preferring to pool over the great libraries of his people. His mind was old, no longer as strong or focused as it had been. He had decided to let the younger more fire-hearted seers take on the task of portending what was to be. But lately a great and terrible sense of dread had begun to haunt him, as if a great calamity was just on the horizon. So he decided to ask the great mind that was Akilae to lend him its incredible power. And in the midst of it all, a mighty vision filled his mind's eye. A powerful portent. The Farseer saw what was to be, and he was both alarmed and appalled.  
  
He saw a new race. Although young and naïve, they would provide the foundations of a great friendship. Abruptly, he saw a great furred beast snarl at him, and then the savage creature lifted its head and sang out a long mournful note. A bad omen. And then, a huge blight suddenly swept across his vision, swallowing the young ones, as well as the Empire of Man. And then eventually, the Eldar Craftworlds themselves. And suddenly the meanings of the vision became utterly clear to him.  
  
 He rose slowly, his age-old limbs cracked in loud pops. He knew it wasn't long before he joined his predecessors in the great Crystal Dome of Seers. He felt no grief or regret for his fate, though he felt compelled to help his brethren as much as he could before he departed the mortal realm. Right now, he had a task to perform. A task that he greatly detested but had no choice but to do. He walked slowly out of the Infinite Circuit, his slow sad footfalls soon joined by the heavier steps of two escorting Wraithguard. He had to tell the High Council to go to war.  
  
   
  
   
  
In the great shrine of Khaine, Swooping Hawk Baransair shifted imperceptibly from his slightly uncomfortable standing position. He fought the powerful urge to wipe his sweaty brow. He had been frozen in that position with the rest of his squad for hours, and the immense heat from the Great Hall was beginning to take its toll on the young warriors. And his wings weren't helping in the least. He could tell his fellow Hawks felt the same, but did not dare to show it. He was sure the movement was all but invisible to all but him. However, defying all logic, his Exarch turned his head and Baransair found himself staring into the Exarch's cold visage. He immediately looked away and stiffened back up. Apparently satisfied, the Exarch turned his elongated decorated helmet back to its previous position.   
  
Baransair did not like this place, the resting-place of the Bloody Handed God himself. It was a huge place, several hundred meters long and wide. It was hot, incredibly so. It felt like he had stepped into Vaul's sacred forge. It was not surprising, he supposed. After all a God slumbered here, a God who's blood was molten steel, who's eyes concealed a terrible rage, who's skin burned eternally, who was the fires of war contained. He was the Avatar, an embodiment of Khaine. Of course it was hot.  
  
He was also uncomfortable with the reason why he was here. All the Aspect warriors in the Craftworld had gathered in this chamber in the thousands all for one purpose. They were here to awaken the Avatar. Baransair had never seen the Avatar before, but he knew very well what the Avatar could do. It had been three hundred years since the last time the God had been awakened, and it had resulted in one of the greatest bloodbaths in his Craftworld's history. He was not looking forward to such a repeat in history.  
  
He was also acutely unnerved about how they were going to wake the Avatar. Baransair flicked his eyes over to the altar. Swooping Hawk Exarch Gorach Anastari still sat quietly meditating. The Young King. The Exarch's body had been stripped and heavily decorated with highly intricate rune- tattoos. He seemed utterly unafraid of his fate, and perhaps he was indeed. Baransair could not understand it, he knew he could not summon up the kind of courage he was witnessing. It was beyond him. Exarch Anastari was about to give his people his ultimate sacrifice. Baransair shuddered inwardly and looked away.  
  
He saw the Court of Young King. Two Avengers stood rock still, sword and pistol crossed reverently. A Scorpion was crouched near a massive column, bright green armor shimmering, and his Claw snapped open and closed, as if contemplating some hapless prey. A Banshee stood next to the Avengers, her gaze seemed fixed on some unforeseeable future while her graying long hair waved gently from the wafts of heated air, contributing to give her a most ethereal appearance. A Dragon sat coiled around a stone bench, he looked the most relaxed of the five, as he brushed his long Fire Lance almost lovingly. They were gathered around the Young King, acting as his powerful wards. For a short time, anyway.  
  
Even as he finished these thoughts, things started happening. A great heavy door opened to the outside world, allowing bright artificial lights to add some of their glory to the darkened room. In stepped a small entourage of seers. Battle Seers, he realized. A small sub-section to Council of Seers, whose appointed job was to lead the Craftworld's forces into combat. That, and awaken the Great Sleeping One. Five old Farseers walked in formation into the chambers, while Warlocks followed in their wake, chanting litanies and incantations. Baransair could feel a psychic throb fill the air, growing with intensity as the hour was reached.  
  
His Exarch, like all the others, raised his arms and began to chant the prayer to Khaine. Automatically, the squad immediately took up the chant, and soon the entire chamber was echoing with each synchronized word. The Exarch lifted a gilded chalice, which he handed to a fellow squad mate while removing one of his gloves. Then taking a small ceremonial knife, he cut into the palm of his left hand, allowing the blood to flow freely into the chalice. When he was satisfied, he bound the wound and slipped the glove back on. Then he took a slim armored finger and dipped it in the blood, and walked around to each squad member. To each, he drew the rune of the Hawk on their foreheads. When it came to his turn, Baransair tried his best not to flinch as he felt the warm liquid touch his bared skin. Through all of this, he noticed the Court escort the Young King into the forge. The massive doors opened giving Baransair a glimpse of the Hell where his God resided. The Young King walked in without hesitation, without any trace of fear. The doors closed behind him.  
  
Baransair wrenched his gaze away. It was time. He knew what he must do. Still chanting the ritual words, they slowly donned their masks. Each Aspect warrior did the same, while pushing his or her softer personalities away. Their darker, wilder sides were just surfacing. Baransair could feel just before he was lost completely to the Warrior inside him, the incredible amount of psychic energy surrounding him.  
  
Then with a mighty roar and a blast of infernal light, the doors of the shrine were flung open. A great and mighty being took its first few steps into the outside world. The Avatar of Khaine gazed at his followers and gave a mighty roar of triumph. The Craftworld shook as the assembled warriors added their voices to the cry. The Baransair the musician was washed away at the sight of his God, replaced by Baransair the Warrior. The killer. The Swooping Hawk. He could feel the blood pumping inside him, adrenaline spiking up to enormous levels. The smell of blood was pungent in his nostrils, and he knew what he was going to do. He was going to War. And he was going to enjoy it.  
  
   
  
   
  
Losse-Novas strode quickly across the desert battlefield of the world Bethansar, his giant strides covering dozens of meters with each step, scattering clouds of sand and dust with each footfall. In the Phantom Titan's wake followed two other Phantoms, and three of the smaller bird- like Revenants. Scattered around their legs lurked fast armored transports and swift darting jetbikes, as well as the newer mysterious CeKaran. Although each was almost 15 meters high, they were still the size of children when compared to the massive Titans they followed. Not far behind were the slightly slower ground troops and Dreadnoughts. Super Heavy tanks, walkers, and artillery vehicles trailed them from a distance, providing much needed support. The Akilae had not deployed such a large task force in centuries. But it was not without good cause.  
  
Losse-Novas saw the enemy, his foes, before him. Mon-Keigh, he thought distastefully. The humans lay in wait; they ranged from the countless ranks of foot soldiers, to the armored battalions of crude vehicles, to the proud armored Mair-Novis bearing the emblem of the Wolf. But even they were not the main focus of his attention. Enemy Titans stood in their way. The squat primitive machines displayed the raw power and brute strength that seemed to be representative of all humans. A Reaver, two WarLords, four Warhounds, and a single menacing Emperor class Titan blocked the path to victory. The Eldar were outnumbered. Of course, when are we not? Losse- Novas thought bitterly. We are, after all, nearly extinct. But then, numbers weren't everything, especially in war. And soon, the Eldar of Akilae would soon teach that lesson to the Mon-Keigh once more like they had for countless ages.  
  
The Eldar began to assemble. Wraithlords moved gracefully to good firing positions. War Walkers and artillery set themselves up to overlap and concentrate heavy weapons fire. Transports dropped off their quarry, hundreds of the fearless and powerful Wraithguard. The ghost warriors formed up in ranks, drawing themselves up with pride and defiance. Losse- Novas felt a familiar stirring to see his smaller spirit-brothers fight by his side. He felt proud of his brethren and their voluntary duty. The long dead warriors gave themselves willingly to protect their living counterparts. As the old Eldar proverb stated, Let the dead join our ranks, lest we join theirs. It was sad and harsh reality.  
  
Deep within Losse-Novas, he could feel his crew. Three Eldar sat around a large spirit stone, his spirit stone. Their eyes open, yet unseeing, while they rested their palms on the milky white surface of the stone. They were one with Losse-Novas. They were the Titan. Their thoughts were one, and their desires were no secrets. They were three beings who joined with him to create a greater whole. His kindred. His descendents.  
  
Losse-Novas knew that at one time he was a Fire Dragon. His victories were many, and he burned many enemies with his flame of Khaine before finally falling to an Unclean Demon. It was a glorious life. But it was nothing compared to his existence now. Now he was a walking god. Taller and more powerful than anything else on the battlefield. The ground heaved and trembled with his footfalls. His weapons could scorch entire mountains. And entire armies fled when he approached. The feeling of power was exhilarating.  
  
And now, he would have the honor of driving these Mon-Keigh off the planet. Their defeat was essential if Eldar were to have a chance in reclaiming what was theirs. But not yet, he told himself. Not yet. The Eldar forces halted in formation and stood motionless as statues. They waited for the yellow moon.  
  
   
  
   
  
Farseer Thalisdein strode across the hot desert sands in silence. His Warlock bodyguards followed close behind him, matching him step for step as they cleared the Falcon's boarding ramp. Although the Warlocks gripped their weapons in anxiety and suspicion, Thalisdein's own weapons were sheathed and hung loosely by his side. His manner indicated he did not anticipate needing them. Ahead of him, the wall of humans was thick. They glared out at him with a mixture if curiosity, fear, and hatred. They kept their lasguns trained on the approaching entourage, watching for the slightest sudden move. The Eldar made none.  
  
The Farseer and his Warlocks stopped abruptly. They stood in the sands, proud and tall. Their armor and weapons gleamed in the harsh sunlight. Their robes and runes swayed slightly in the breeze. And although the air was searing hot, they gave no sign of discomfort. They seemed almost ethereal, untouchable as spirits and powerful as Gods.  
  
The sea of humans parted slowly as a group of mighty warriors moved in their midst, like sharks through a school of fish. Mighty warriors emerged, humans clad in great shining armor. They were tall bearded men, almost as tall as the Eldar themselves. They moved with a fluidness that hid their incredible strength. But the Eldar were not fooled. They had fought the Mair-Novis before.  
  
The two parties stood facing each other in silence for an eternity, before the Farseer broke the stalemate. He made a hand gesture with his hand, a quick complex motion that signified greeting. The human leader gave his own gesture, not wanting to imitate an alien.  
  
"I am Farseer Thalisdein of Akilae. I come with the Auriga tier." He spoke fluently in the clumsy human tongue.  
  
"I am Wolf Lord Vlad Cairnes of the Space Wolves Chapter of Third Company." The human stated, his voice harsh and grating with age.  
  
"We do not have to do this, human. You may leave this planet. We would not follow." Thalisdein stated, watching his adversary closely.  
  
"I'm afraid that is not possible. The Emperor, may he watch over us, charged with this planet and placed it under our care. We would not sully our honor by defying Him." The human spoke with an odd gleam in his eyes. His warriors nodded and grunted their agreement, drawing themselves up proudly with the words.  
  
"Then blood shall be spilled today." Without speaking another word, the Farseer and his bodyguards spun on their heels and walked back to the Falcon, leaving the humans slightly caught off guard by their abrupt departure. Then, shaking their heads, they withdrew into their ranks.  
  
   
  
   
  
The Eldar still stood. Every warrior was silent. Even the giant Titans were frozen into position. It was as if time itself had stopped. Then, in the center of the massive army, the air rippled. All eyes trained on the spot as a rift was torn into the fabric of space. A Webway was opened. And from the portal, Aspect Warriors poured out to fill the Eldar formations. The Swooping Hawks took to the sky the instant they emerged, flying swiftly out of sight. The air shimmered as Warp Spiders continually snapped in and out of existence in seeming unpredictable patterns. Howling Banshees and Wynd Strikers moved swiftly to their places behind the ranks of the Wraithguard, closely followed by the Scorpions and Fire Dragons. Still yet, the Eldar waited. Anticipation rippled through the Eldar ranks as they watched the portal for it's last occupant.  
  
An armored figure stepped out. The Avatar stretched its muscles. It's thick skin was pitted and steaming. Molten metal could be seen coursing through its veins. His eyes were of fire, and promised destruction. In one hand, it clutched a mighty weapon that seemed to morph every few seconds into a new form. In the other, it had nothing, save the blood of it's slain enemies, dripping from the gauntlet for all eternity. The Avatar drew itself up…and gave a mighty roar. All the Eldar warriors, broken from their trance, lent their voices to the cry. Every Guardian, Aspect Warrior, Seer, even the Wraith legions and the Titans from their synthetic speakers, added their voices to the mix. It was a cry of Death. A cry of joy. A cry of Bloodlust. It echoed around the desert valley and reached the ears of the Mon-Keigh, making them shake in their shoes as they heard calm beautiful voices turn hard and cruel.  
  
With a chopping motion, the Avatar stopped the cry. It turned and watched the sky. The dust and rocks themselves vibrated with the synchronized hearts of excited warriors. Up ahead, the sun shone its radiance against a small moon. They watched as the moon slowly filled with golden color. A collective thrill ran wild through the air. The Yellow Moon filled. The Avatar smiled.  
  
The Avatar pointed his mighty weapon and bellowed a single word.  
  
Charge.  
  
And so the slaughter began.  
  
   
  
Losse-Novas was exultant. His weapons scorched a hundred humans into ashes. He was a God. A walking God of Destruction. If one could see into the cockpit of the Phantom Titan, they would see the three crewmembers, their eyes glowing eerily, chanting the word "Death" continually.  
  
He was free to fight. Free to destroy.  
  
And he was joyful.  
  
But first…He turned his gaze on the enemy Titans.  
  
His pulse lasers slashed at a Warlord while his D-cannon ripped a deep hole in its side. The massive war machine teetered, and fell without firing a shot. Losse-Novas dodged weapons fire that surely would have torn him asunder had it not been for his shape shifting holo-field and his reflexes.  
  
He watched as the Revenants poured their fire into the Reaver, making it shake with explosions, although leaving it operational. One of his brother Phantoms brought punishing fire to the Warhounds, downing two of them with laser fire, while the other slashed more armor and destroyed the shoulder weapons bank of the second Warlord.  
  
The human fire was just as murderous. The Reaver and the Emperor poured missile and plasma into the Revenants, taking down one of the fleet footed machines and heavily damaging another. The Warhounds fired at the Phantom bearing down on them. Fortunately, due to the Phantom's distorted visage from its holo field, and the protection given by the energy force field, the Phantom remained largely unscathed. The remaining Warlord fired at the other Phantom. The majority of the shots including the Volcano cannon shot missed completely, once again because of the Eldar's superior technology. However, a shot from a Turbo Laser caressed the side of the Phantoms left armed pulse laser, causing the weapon to explode in an impressive fashion. Undaunted, the Phantom charged onward. Drawing back its massive fist, it slugged the larger Warlord solidly in the shoulder. The Warlord twisted with the blow, caught off guard at the attack and was completely open for the Phantom's next move. The Phantom grabbed a hold of the Warlord's arm, crushing armor and steel supports, then locking a leg behind the Titan's knee, the Phantom toppled the stricken Warlord with a shove. The Phantom left the Warlord lying there, knowing fully well that the crew of the fallen Titan would be crushed in the fall from such a height. The other Phantom obliterated one Warhound but the other remaining one escaped its shots. However, by evading the fire, the Warhound wandered too close to the Wraithguard legions.  
  
As one, the armored spirit-warriors raised their cannons and fired. The Warhound was consumed with dozens of miniature black holes that simply ate up the Titan. What little remained fell to the ground, proving cover for the multitudes of ground troops nearby. The two remaining Revenants left the Titan duel, concluding logically that their presence would have more impact on a cluster of Mon-Keigh tanks on a nearby hill.  
  
Losse-Novas trained his guns on the Reaver even as it targeted him. But before either could fire, three blurred small figures jumped on to the Reaver and began to attack it. What was that? He thought. He magnified his view and was pleasantly surprised. CeKaran, He realized, of course. The small machines only came up to his knee, but were practically built to fight Titans. Now 2 Banshees and one Scorpion CeKaran hacked away at the Reaver with sword and spears. The Reaver flailed around with its arms, trying in vain to knock of its unfamiliar attackers. But the CeKaran was small and fast, easily ducking and jumping around the clumsy blows. The Scorpion CeKaran slashed his sword at the Titan's knee, tearing a rent in the thick armor. His Banshee counterpart stabbed her spear repeatedly into the giant's back, but failed to do much against the rounded armor. However, the second Banshee CeKaran was far more effective. The CeKaran jumped up high and landed on the Reaver's thick neck. It straddled the neck with her legs, and raised her spear high over her head, and then drove it into the Reaver's head. The two prongs of the spear plunged deep into the head, piercing armor, cockpit, and flesh alike. Again and again, the CeKaran stabbed the Reaver, until thick black smoke poured from the holes. The Reaver froze in position, the machine spirit controlling its limbs flickered and died. The CeKaran was preparing to leap off their victim when it rocked unexpectedly. Apparently seeing its compatriot was doomed, the Emperor fired upon the Reaver in an attempt to destroy the CeKaran. Armor buckled with the incredible punishment the Emperor dished out, and the Reaver exploded sending flaming debris in all directions. Two of the CeKaran escaped relatively unscathed, but the Banshee CeKaran that killed the Reaver had a leg blown off at the knee by a plasma blast. She landed some distance away, with so much force that it was doubtful the machine could have survived. Yet, when the dust cleared, the CeKaran was very much alive, and demonstrated this by firing her arm-mounted shruiken cannons at a nearby infantry squad.  
  
Losse-Novas targeted the enormous Emperor and let fire with his weapons. His pulse laser did little but scorch steaming black pits on the Titan's chest. His bright lance burned a small but deep hole into the Emperor's right thigh. The D-cannon was the most effective as it fired a bolt that landed directly on the Emperor's missile banks on it's right arm. The warheads went off in a spectacular explosion that staggered even the giant behemoth. The Emperor slowly found his bearing then leveled its massive plasma cannon directly at Losse-Novas's face. But before it could fire, three more bolts impacted on its chest, jarring its aim. A trio of Cobra Super Heavy tanks fired again into the Emperor that towered over them, turning it into a flaming wreck.  
  
Losse-Novas felt a fierce surge of pride at his people. They had beaten the odds once more. And though the battle still raged on, in his heart of hearts, he knew it had already been won. Powering up his weapons, he charged into the fray, spitting fire and death at his foes.  
  
   
  
    
  
Farseer Thalisdein was deep in thought, even as the forces moved. His throat was still raw from The Cry, but he paid it no heed. The Falcon he and his Warlock sat in swerved suddenly, but they managed to keep their seats. Over ahead, he felt the gunner focus on something far away. The scream of pulse laser and starcannon filled the passenger cabin at certain intervals. The Warlocks were muttering litanies to calm their nerves and souls. Thalisdein remained silent, pondering the humans and their plight.  
  
They were so…brief. And yet so self-assured, so righteous. He shook his head sadly. They were many and powerful to be sure, but did not -could not- possess the Eldar's wisdom. His people saw into the future and predicted all that was to come. They were never wrong. And yet, the humans always foolishly ignored their predictions. Their warnings. Foolish. They deserved to take the fall if they did not listen.  
  
So why was it…that he felt saddened? Truly, the humans deserved their fate, for defying his people. But he couldn't help but feel sorry for the pitiful savages. They were simply incapable of accepting higher powers they could not understand, and instead, set out to destroy it. It was the Folly of Man. For all their shortcomings, the humans had honor. Some of them. The Mair-Novis were varied, but most carried about them an air of pride he had only seen in the most highly trained Aspect Warrior. Stubbornness, while annoying, was still an admirable trait; and was present in them all. They were good warriors. It was not their fault evolution had made them so obnoxious.  
  
The Falcon jolted, jarring Thalisdein out of his thoughts. He heard the pilot shouting that they were damaged and were losing speed. Thalisdein and his Warlocks clutched at handholds set in the walls of the compartment, as they waited for the inevitable crash-landing. When it came, they were barely able to keep themselves from being thrown out of their seats. The Falcon shook violently, as it plowed into the sands of the desert floor. Thalisdein saw in his mind's eye the sand and dust building up as a mound as the Falcon's wings pushed deeper and deeper into the ground. Then all at once, they came to a stop. And all was silent.  
  
Thalisdein shook the pain in his bones away, then psychically checked on the condition of his companions. All his Warlocks were fine, though slightly shaken from the crash, he felt that the gunner was fine. But he could no longer feel the pilot's life force. Standing up tall to appear strong to his compatriots, and walked toward the hatch, ignoring the deep aches and pains his age-old muscles were feeling. He felt his Warlocks stand up and start to follow him. Pressing his palm against a control panel, he opened the entry hatch. Unfiltered bright sunlight and hot air tinged with the smell of smoke greeted him. Walking out, he made his way to the cockpit, although he already knew what he would find. The pilot was dead, a rock and crashed through the canopy and broken the young Eldar's neck.  
  
"Magateth!" He cursed, wishing he had foreseen the attack. Sadly, he gently gathered the pilot's spirit stone and carefully placed inside his pouch. Then giving a quick prayer, he closed the pilot's eyes, and stepped out. Examining the transport, he saw that the right engine had been reduced to smoking junk. The cause was likely a human warhead. He sighed.  
  
The gunner then informed him telepathically that help was on the way. However, there crash had not gone unnoticed, and a group of Mon-Keigh and a single heavy vehicle was coming in their direction. The Farseer nodded gravely before giving his orders. He told the gunner to remain silent and motionless, in effect to play dead. Then he and his Warlocks hid themselves inside the Falcon and waited for their foes.  
  
They did not have long to wait. Through their sensitive ears, they heard the telltale rattling of a human vehicle and the heavy footfalls of weary soldiers. Thalisdein reached out and saw through the gunner's eyes, fifteen normal foot soldiers, five troopers that rode large snarling lizards, and more worryingly behind them a large squat vehicle. A Landraider, a hallmark of the Mair-Novis. Thalisdein knew from previous experience that the tank was tough and heavily armed, but the true danger came from the armored warriors hidden within. It would have to be dealt with.  
  
The other humans and their pets were minor concerns. Quietly, Thalisdein informed his comrades his plan. Satisfied they understood, he pulled his pistol out of its holster and retrieved his spear. When they were ready, he reached out to the strands of time. He watched the Landraider crawling slowly up. He saw a small hatch opened to vent heat in the tank's side. He saw the tank exploding as a shot pierced its core and scattering the human soldiers.  
  
Carefully and slowly to avoid alarm, he guided the gunner's aim directly on the targeted area. He felt the gunner tighten slightly on the firing triggers. Not yet, the Farseer chided silently. The gunner accepted the rebuke in grace and relaxed his fingers, awaiting the Farseer's word.  
  
Thalisdein watched patiently. Closer and closer they came, and still he waited. The Warlocks stirred slightly feeling much tension, but they dared not interrupt their master's concentration.  
  
Then finally, the old Seer whispered softly, "Now."  
  
The gunner fired.  
  
Not waiting to see the effects of the shot, Thalisdein slapped his hand on the panel once more, and rushed to find cover against the Falcon's side, closely followed by the Warlocks. Then they saw the Landraider in flames and a few of the humans already dead. Even as they watched, a giant lizard and its human rider were disintegrated by a blast of plasma. Pulling out his pistol, Thalisdein fired at the now-frantic Mon-Keigh as they desperately sought cover. The Warlocks followed suite. Shruiken disks sliced their way in, and several of the humans dropped bonelessly. A few managed to return fire. The Seers ducked as las-bolts ricocheted harmlessly from the Falcon's thick armor. It was then that Thalisdein felt a surge of danger. Looking up, he saw the humans charging, and leading them were members of the Mair-Novis. These were truly wild warriors. Thalisdein could see them clearly, their armor and beards singed with fire, their mouths frothed, and their eyes bloodshot. They howled and gibbered while brandishing axes and chain swords. And they were charging right up at them.  
  
They fired again with renewed fury. Two, no…four of the armored warriors were cut down by the gunner. Most of the fire Thalisdein and his bodyguards gave simply bounced off the sloped armor of the Mair-Novis. The old Farseer hefted his spear, and after muttering a small prayer to Khaine, he let fly with the weapon. Guiding it with his mind, he was gratified to see the spear bury itself a Mair-Novis's knee. Thalisdein tugged it back with his psychic energy, and the blade wrenched itself out. The warrior tumbled, howling all the time. The spear sailed back in an arc, and Thalisdein caught it in one hand effortlessly.  
  
And then they were amongst them. Thalisdein parried a blow from an axe, then smashed a warrior across his face with the side of his spear. The warrior staggered backward with an expression of surprise. Then with blood dribbling from his broken nose, he grinned maniacally, and renewed his furious assault. Until Thalisdein looked directly into the warrior's eyes. Flexing his considerable willpower, he overloaded the warrior's mind with pure warp energy. The warrior rolled his eyes back into his head, then toppled over, brain-dead. Out of the corner of his eye, Thalisdein saw one of his Warlocks unleash a psychic assault from his outstretched palm. A group of normal humans clutched at their heads and screamed in pain and terror, before collapsing to the ground silent.  
  
As he fought off another two warriors, he felt himself suddenly filled with greater vigor and energy. He plunged the spear point into one warrior's belly, then spun off to trip the other warrior with his foot. Silently, he thanked Warlock Lineas for his psychic help. Then he saw one of his Warlocks fall, knocked unconscious by a well-placed pistol blow. Quickly, he moved over and shot the attacker through the eyes with a shuriken. With some difficulty, he lifted the Warlock's body onto his aching shoulders. He was getting too old for this. He looked up just in time to see a chainsword coming down in an arc with his head, only to be parried by a Witchblade. Another Warlock shielded him with his body, fighting off the humans as best he could. It couldn't last, and the bloodied Warlock fell. The remaining three Warlocks and Thalisdein fell back with his unconscious burden, trying to put some distance between themselves and their attackers. But they knew it wouldn't help. So they stopped after a few more steps, then grimly turned to face the humans. And were thoroughly surprised when a large shadow covered them. Looking up, they saw a Revenant Titan place an enormous foot between them and the Mon- Keigh. They must have been so focused on the battle, they never heard the machine get so close. Eldar were very vengeful creatures. Mercy was not one of their traits. The Revenant pilots were no different. The Mon-Keigh didn't have a chance as they were blasted and stomped out of existence. Thalisdein and the others watched impassively as the Mon-Keigh were crushed.  
  
Explosions rumbled like distant thunder, far away. The battle still raged on, and the humans were falling back in disarray. Though out of sight, the Seers saw everything it the eyes of others. Over in the distance they could see Swooping Hawks diving down upon their enemies. Sharp cracking sounds echoed over the battlefield as they dropped their grenades, and assaulted the rear of the human army. Fast Vyper and jetbike squadrons raced through the humans, firing with all their weapons, wrecking havoc on the human's morale. CeKaran and Titans acted as walking death, as their smaller cousins, the Wraithguard and the WraithLords swept away the crumbs left behind. The Aspect Warriors were in a fighting frenzy, slaughtering the enemy wholesale. What few Mon-Keigh units left were desperately trying to surrender.  
  
   
  
The battle was effectively over.  
  
    
  
Large blocky dropships made a steady decent from the blue skies. Dozens of them hovered in formation, and opened their entry hatches simultaneously. Giant Manta shaped fighters swooped out, flying patrol, making intricate patterns along the clouds. Hundreds of robotic Battlesuits leapt from their transports, and floated to the ground like rain. Thousands of infantry spread themselves out in parade formation. Their freshly polished armor gleamed brightly in the light of the sun, and they displayed themselves and their long rifles proudly for their alien hosts. It was not lost on the Eldar.  
  
Once more, Farseer Thalisdein and his forces stood silent, ever watching, and yet not reacting. They were all seasoned warriors, and such displays of glamour had lost all meaning to them for centuries. That was not to say they weren't impressed, which they were. But they'd be damned if they were to show it. So they remained stoic.  
  
From one of the visitor's transports, stepped out a leader and his retinue. The leader walked without the grace of the Eldar, but one could see the pride and the respect he carried in his body. And yet, his body language also contained a bit of a carefree expression, suggesting youth to the observant watchers. The retinue stopped facing Thalisdein, and both sides scrutinized each other. Finally, the visiting leader raised a blue hand, and greeted Thalisdein.  
  
"I am Ethereal Shaka's Va Nagisu. In the name of the Tau and the Greater Good, I greet you." He spoke in an unfamiliar language, but the Eldar quickly translated the words in their minds. They stood there for a very long time, while the Eldar judged their sincerity in the greeting.  
  
Then Thalisdein spoke slowly, "I am Farseer Thalisdein of the Eldar, representing the Akilae Craftworld. Welcome to Bethansar."  
  
The Ethereal smiled. "What do you think of our forces?" Spreading his hand out to present the massed FireWarriors and Battlesuits.  
  
Thalisdein considered his answer before speaking. "They are…very…nice."  
  
Looking slightly disappointed at the lack of reaction, the Ethereal forced a smile. "Would you like to tour them? We can discuss trading matters aboard my ship."  
  
"I look forward to it. We have much to discuss." Thalisdein replied coolly. And slowly, they walked off to the ship. And the beginning of the Alliance was formed...  
  
  


End file.
